There is a moment on every solo trip where you are sitting somewhere incredible, and think, “I need to remember this forever.”
So you pull out your phone, snap a photo, maybe add a filter, and post it. Done. Memory captured. Except… is it?
I used to have thousands of travel photos on my phone. Literally thousands. And honestly? Half of them looked the same. Another sunset in Santorini. Another cobblestone alley in Lisbon.
Sure, they were beautiful, but scrolling through them felt like flipping through someone else’s vacation album. I could barely remember which trip half of them were from.
Then, on a rainy afternoon in Porto (because of course it was Porto, the city that makes you want to be a more artistic version of yourself), I wandered into a tiny art shop and bought a cheap set of watercolors.
I had zero artistic talent. Like, genuinely none. My stick figures look confused. But I sat down at a cafe, ordered a glass of vinho verde, and tried to paint the view across the Douro River.
It was terrible. Truly, beautifully terrible. The river looked like a bruise, and the buildings looked like they were melting.
But something weird happened. For the first time in a long time, I was actually paying attention. Not to my phone, not to my notifications, not to the group chat blowing up about dinner plans.
Instead, I was focused on the light on the water and the way the orange rooftops stacked on top of each other like crooked teeth. I was hooked.
You Don’t Need Talent (Seriously, You Don’t)
Let me be very clear about something: I am not an artist. I will never be an artist. My paintings look like what would happen if a toddler and a Monet painting had a fight.
But that is genuinely the best part about travel watercoloring. Nobody cares. You are not submitting these to a gallery.
You are sitting in a piazza in Rome with an espresso, making a little mess on paper, and it is the most relaxed you have felt in months.
The whole point is the process. It forces you to slow down and actually look at the place you flew halfway around the world to see.
Instead of spending 30 seconds at a viewpoint and moving on to the next attraction, you sit there for an hour.
You notice the way the shadows move. You see the old man who walks his dog past the same bench every morning. You become part of the scene instead of just passing through it.
And honestly? As a solo traveler, that kind of slow, intentional travel is everything. It turns a “been there, done that” checklist trip into something that actually sticks with you.
What I Wish I Knew Before I Started
My first attempt at travel painting involved me hauling a full watercolor set, a glass jar for water, a palette, loose paper, and a roll of paper towels through the streets of Barcelona.
I looked like I was setting up a yard sale every time I wanted to sketch something. People stared. It was not my finest moment.
Here is what I have learned since then: the simpler your setup, the more you will actually use it.
These days I travel with a compact all-in-one kit that has the paints, a water brush (no jar needed, the water is in the handle), and paper all in one package.
I picked up a set of travel watercolor kits from Tobios after a friend recommended them.
They are honestly perfect for someone like me who wants to paint but does not want to think too hard about supplies. Everything is already there. You just open it and go.
The water brush alone changed my life. No more carrying a cup of dirty water through the streets of Florence like some kind of unhinged goblin.
The Best Places to Paint (From Someone Who Has Tried)
Not every spot is ideal for pulling out your paints. Here are a few types of locations that work really well:
Outdoor cafes with a view. You have a table, you have a drink, you have time. This is the sweet spot. Bonus points if it is a quiet neighborhood spot where nobody is going to rush you for the table.
Parks and gardens. Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris, Retiro in Madrid, Villa Borghese in Rome. Find a bench, set up your little kit, and paint whatever catches your eye.
Trees are forgiving subjects because nobody knows exactly what a tree is supposed to look like anyway.
Rooftop terraces at your hotel or hostel. Golden hour on a rooftop with your paints and a glass of wine is about as good as solo travel gets. That is a hill I will die on.
Boat rides and ferries. This sounds chaotic, but hear me out. Quick loose sketches from a moving boat are some of my favorite pieces.
They are messy and imperfect, and they capture the energy of the moment better than any photo.
What About the Finished Paintings?
Here is the thing. Some of them are actually… kind of good? Not gallery-worthy, but good in the way that a handwritten letter is good. They have personality.
They have the coffee stain from that morning in Athens and the smudge from when a pigeon got too close in Amsterdam.
I tape them into my travel journal now. Each trip has a handful of little paintings mixed in with ticket stubs, restaurant cards, and the random notes I scribble to myself.
It is a million times more personal than a photo album, and when I flip through it, I can actually feel the trip again. The warmth, the sounds, the smell of that cafe. Photos do not do that. At least not for me.
Why This Works for Solo Travelers Specifically
When you travel alone, you have the freedom to do whatever you want. But that same freedom sometimes turns into aimless wandering.
This is when you end up at another tourist trap because you did not know what else to do. You also end up spending money you don’t have because, yeah, what else are you going to do?
Watercolor painting gives your time alone a real purpose. You start seeking out quiet corners instead of following the crowd. You sit down. You breathe. You make something.
Before you know it, idle hours quickly become the highlight of your day.
And honestly, it is the best conversation starter. You’d be surprised by how many people come up to you. They ask what you’re painting, and suddenly your solo lunch is not so solo anymore.
You do not need to be talented. You do not need expensive supplies. You just need the willingness to sit down for a little while and be in the moment. You really need to sit and enjoy exactly where you are.
Trust me, take an hour and paint your heart out. Your phone camera will still be there, and you’ll forget all about it.
But the little wonky painting of that sunset in Dubrovnik? That is something that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.